


Chin to Chest

by EtoileGarden



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: AU, M/M, adam pov, fake name au, hookup AU, no magic au probably, not a sex hookup ok just kissing, pre TRB, ronan and adam are dumbasses what else is new?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 10:33:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16195763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtoileGarden/pseuds/EtoileGarden
Summary: Hello here is a prime example of Arden couldn't sleep last night so she wrote a really terrible fic for you all to shake your heads about.-“You want me to just kiss you?” he asks.The boy nods.Adam leans in. Up close the boy smells like sweat, probably due to nerves. It doesn’t smell bad. He presses their lips chastely together, then remembers he’s supposed to be proving something, and opens his lips to wetten the kiss and the boy inhales sharply against him. Adam leans back.“Proof enough?” he asks.The boy nods.(31.10.18 There is now a Ronan POV version of this as well! https://archiveofourown.org/works/16195763 )





	Chin to Chest

**Author's Note:**

> as always this is excessively unedited have fun
> 
>  
> 
> (31.10.18 There is now a Ronan POV version of this as well! https://archiveofourown.org/works/16195763 )

There were several spots for ‘loners’ at Mountain View. It all just depended on the kind of loner you were. Behind the shabby art and woodwork buildings was the smokers. They all lonered together. The back of the playing field, to the side of the shabbier greenhouse that was supposedly a horticulture elective were the weed smokers, also lonering together. The library was the haven for those who just didn’t want to be around people, or whose life revolved around study, or who didn’t want to eat lunch. This was usually where Adam was, because he fit in all the prerequisites. However, the problem with being such a constant in the library, such a studious constant, apparently, was that the librarians took a liking to him. This was fine most of the time, very useful, in fact, because it meant they helped him out happily with most things, understood that sometimes you just didn’t want to talk, and would also photocopy things in colour for him. This was not useful on days his face was a bit purple because then they’d get this  _ look _ in their eyes, and he knew that after a certain about of  _ looks _ they’d do something. Something like talk to the principle. Something like calling someone on his parents. Something like accidentally getting Adam in big fucking trouble. 

 

So. Days like that he had to find a new place to hang, by himself, because he just couldn’t be bothered to try and pretend like he was ok any longer than he had to, and class was enough of school to have to pretend. So. So. The music rooms were out, they were always occupied. The gym was out; it either had games happening or couples screwing. The bathrooms were out, because they were gross. The truly ideal place was around the back of the defunct counsellors room. Defunct because the school, due to funding costs (funding being funneled into sports and a new Science building), had decided the nurse could double as school counsellor. 

 

The small, patchy grassed area there was vaguely private as it had been designed in a hopeful sort of graceful privacy way, behind a clump of trees. There were rumours the counsellor had actually been fired because he was fooling around with a student, or that he had killed a student and that the place was haunted now, the gossip varied. Most people stayed away, because; a. You don’t fuck with haunted places, dude, b. It’s just  _ creepy _ around there, and, c. sure it’d be a good place to get your nuts off but I bet that pervert’s still there just  _ watching _ . 

 

Sometimes there’d be students there trying to provoke a ghost to appear, or just there because it  _ was _ a good private place, so Adam couldn’t always count on it being empty. 

 

Today though, today it was. 

 

-

 

He had been sitting against a rough barked tree for about five minutes, scrawling at his Maths homework on his knee, trying to make a bread on bread sandwich last long enough to convince his stomach he’d eaten a real lunch, when a twig cracks behind him. 

For a half moment his guts try and convince him that ghosts are real and the rumours were true, and he had a pissed off ghost coming up behind him. Then his brain kicked in and he looked up to see some fucking random dude standing awkwardly between two trees. 

The first thing Adam thinks is; huh. I don’t recognise him. 

The second thing Adam thinks is; tall. 

 

“Um,” the dude says. 

 

Adam considers the possibility of ignoring him and just continuing scribbling at his homework. Another twig cracks as the guy steps towards him, just once, halting. 

 

“What?” Adam asks. 

 

“Uh,” the guy says, swipes curls out of his eyes, “I heard, I heard that this is like. A meet up place.”

 

“What?” Adam asks again, eying the boy up closely. For a short while he had thought he was older, due to his height, but with him a little closer and with his curls brushed out of his eyes, he was obviously a boy. Probably Adam’s age. Maybe he did go to this school? 

 

“Y’know,” the boy says. He’s stuffed his hands into his jean pockets, shoulders awkwardly high around his chin, “are you here for that?” 

 

“Uh,” Adam says, looks the boy up and down for possible clues on what the actual hell he was talking about. He had no clue. Or maybe he did. The boy was wearing scuffed up docs, ripped jeans, an artistically torn shirt. All of very expensive material. He was obviously rich, obviously thought he was cool. Possibly Adam had accidentally tried to have his lunch in a drugs deal area. If that was a thing? Probably was. He stands up, brushes the seat of his own, truly ripped jeans, and grabs his things. “No,” he says, “I’m not. Find someone else.” 

 

He’s barely gotten a step away before the boy speaks again. 

 

“You don’t have to lie,” he says, “you could just say you don’t like the look of me.” 

 

Adam stops. 

 

“What?” he asks, he doesn’t turn fully around, he doesn’t want to look like he’s entirely susceptible to being dragged into an unwanted conversation, but he wants to see what this weirdo’s face was doing. 

 

“Am I not pretty enough?” The boy asks, stumbling over his own words, “Or like, buff enough?” 

 

Adam’s brain is desperately trying to put this shit together. He’s supposed to be good at understanding stuff. The boy folds his arms around himself and speaks again. 

 

“Look,” he says, “we don’t have to, like, hookup. Or whatever it is that happens here. I just - look. I just wanna talk to someone like me. The hooking up bit would just have been a - a - a bonus.” 

 

Adam’s brain hits the jackpot. His feet tell him he ought to very quickly get out of here. He could sit around the back of the library. There were some idiots who sat out back there but they were quite a few years below him and they would leave him alone. He could get his work done there. Adam’s curiousity and overwhelming desire to understand himself, swiveled him around to face the boy. 

 

“You’re gay?” Adam tries. 

 

The boy looks almost overwhelmingly uncomfortable. He shuffles his shoulder, ducks his head forward so his hair falls back over his face. 

 

“Yeah,” he grits out, “I guess. You are too though, right?” 

 

“I like guys,” Adam hedges, “you came here for a hookup?” 

 

“Not sex!” The boy says, very quick, “Just - y’know.” 

 

“I thought you were after drugs,” Adam admits, hefts his bag a little more over his shoulder. “I didn’t know this place had a reputation for like,  _ meet ups _ .” 

 

The boy shrugs, “Maybe it was a joke,” he mumbles, “I wasn’t told outright. It was just. Something I heard. When I saw you here, by yourself, I thought, maybe it was true.” 

 

“I look gay, huh?” Adam asks, possibly a little too bitterly. It fit in perfectly with his father’s narrative. 

 

The boy shrugs again. His shoulders are almost at his eyebrows. 

 

“You’re pretty,” he mumbles, “I dunno. No? What the fuck do gay people look like? Do I look gay?” 

 

“No,” Adam replies, “what’s your name?” 

 

“Um,” the boy says, impossibly he looks even more uncomfortable, “uh. It’s - I don’t know you. I don’t know if you’re actually gay too. What if I tell you my name and you go telling people?” 

 

Adam frowns. That’s fair enough. He should say ok and then bye and then go and do his homework and not come back here ever. 

 

He really fucking wants to do some shit for fun. He really wants to do something reckless. His face is still throbbing with the force of knuckles against his cheek last night and he wants to do something in retaliation without getting in trouble for it. 

 

He drops his bag to the ground. 

 

“You came here for a hookup,” he says, as steady as he can, “I can prove I like guys to you and you can get a hookup. Win win.” 

 

The boy stares at him, then he nods. He doesn’t stop looking uncomfortable. 

 

Adam glances over his shoulder, then steps closer towards the shadow of the locked building nodding towards it. The boy follows him to the wall, leans against it. Adam leans against the wall too, looks the boy’s stiff posture up and down. 

 

“You want me to just kiss you?” he asks. 

 

The boy nods. 

 

Adam leans in. Up close the boy smells like sweat, probably due to nerves. It doesn’t smell bad. He presses their lips chastely together, then remembers he’s supposed to be proving something, and opens his lips to wetten the kiss and the boy inhales sharply against him. Adam leans back. 

 

“Proof enough?” he asks. 

 

The boy nods. 

 

“You don’t have to tell me your name,” Adam says, making a string of decisions very quickly, “we could keep this anonymous.” 

 

“You just don’t wanna tell me your name,” the boy replies with a faint snort. Adam shrugs. “Fine,” the boy says, “we don’t say our names.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, “cool.” 

 

The boy looks at him, scrutinising. Somehow, now they’ve kissed, just the once, he looks more confident, and Adam feels more nervous. “You wanna kiss more, now?” he asks, “Or are you like, saying we could maybe meet up more and kiss again later?” 

 

Adam shrugs, this was in his string of decisions. “Both,” he says. 

 

“Huh,” the boy says. “Ok. You could call me … uh… Selkie.” 

 

“What?” Adam snorts, “Selkie..?” 

 

“It’s not my name,” ‘Selkie’ huffs, stepping back a little from Adam and shoving his hands into his pockets again, “but like,  _ Selkie _ is better than just not having anything to call me by.” 

 

Adam laughs a little. This is so ridiculous. He feels like he’s playing a game. Selkie. Hiding behind a building. Breaking the rules. It’s all a thrill of excitement. Not something he experiences often. He wants more. 

 

“Fine,  _ Selkie _ ,” he says, tries to think on his feet, ends up double bluffing, “you can call me… hm - ha - Adam.” 

 

Selkie raises his eyebrows. “That’s nowhere near as cool as Selkie,” he says, “how unimaginative.” 

 

“Well,” Adam says, “it’s Adam or nothing.” 

 

“Oh I like Nothing,” Selkie replies.

 

Adam frowns at him. “You’re weird,” he says informatively. 

 

“So my brothers tell me,” Selkie says, “are we gonna kiss more or are we gonna discuss names more, Nothing?” 

 

‘Nothing’ is probably more fitting than his real name, if Adam is being honest with himself. If his parents had been honest about the whole parenting thing from the get go.  

 

“So let’s kiss,” Adam says, “god knows you need more practice.” 

 

“Fuck you,” Selkie snorts, “sorry we can’t all be sluts.” 

 

“Fuck  _ you _ ,” Adam retorts, reveling in the rudeness of it, “you’re the one who came looking for a hookup.” 

 

“You’re the one who offered,” Selkie replies, then leans forward into Adam’s space, “so come on.” 

 

Adam kisses him again. 

 

It’s awkward. Selkie kisses back with a lot of teeth and with a stiff face and stiff shoulders, and Adam doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch him, like, just grab his shoulders to try and unstiffen him a little. He hasn’t kissed any guys before, though he’s kissed a few girls behind garages and stuff. One girl he kissed a lot back at the trailer park before she and her family moved states. This is very different from that. Mostly because Selkie is tall as all shit and Adam’s always been the taller one when kissing. He has to lean up and it cricks his neck a little. He’s had enough of it after about six minutes, but when he pulls away Selkie looks almost disappointed. 

 

“Bored already?” Selkie asks, his voice a bad attempt at casual. 

 

“I can only take so much of you trying to stick your tongue in my mouth,” Adam replies, “but I also gotta get to class soon.” 

 

Selkie is back to awkwardness. His hands are already in his pockets again. 

 

“I’ll see you again?” Adam tries, “We could do this again?” 

 

“Sure,” Selkie mumbles. “Meet here again?” 

 

“Sure,” Adam replies, “not this week. Maybe, maybe like same time next week?”

 

“Sure,” Selkie mumbles again, “see you then.” 

 

-

 

It’s pretty weird. This being a thing that Adam is allowing himself to do, but, like, it turns out to be actually really fun. It’s Adam turning up at the same spot the next week to find Selkie sitting by the tree Adam had been sitting against last time. He had thought they might have to find somewhere new to meet, which would be annoying, but apparently Selkie did a pretty good act of ‘intimidating jock’ that stopped anyone else from trying to sit there so long as Selkie was there first - which - he always was.  

 

Selkie kissing him first. It’s mostly kissing. Sometimes they talk a bit. Despite Selkie saying he wanted to talk to someone about the whole gay thing, he never brings it up. 

 

They talk about random shit, like homework, like the trees, like dogs they want. They dodge and dance around personal shit. Like, Adam finds out that Selkie is allergic to apples, loves oranges, that he loves languages and Maths but hates school, that he’s terrified of change but gets so bored of stillness, but, he doesn’t know where Selkie lives, or Selkie’s name, or anything about Selkie’s family, or even, if Selkie actually goes to school at all. Adam guesses he goes to Aglionby, but Selkie never shows up in uniform, and Adam never asks. 

 

It goes on for three months like this, which is three months longer than Adam thought it would. 

  
  


-

  
  


It’s a Wednesday when things change a little. He knows Selkie better now, has a whole spiel of dumbshit he wants to say to him before they start kissing because Selkie is fun to talk to and Adam doesn’t get to do fun conversation with most people so he wants to kill two birds with one stone. Sometimes he prefers the chatting to kissing. He thinks it’s because Selkie has no idea who Adam is, who Adam belongs to, where Adam belongs to. All he knows is that Adam is better at kissing than him, has good grades, and likes guys. That and all of Adam’s dog preferences, the movies he likes, his favourite poem, how much he wants to learn languages, what he thinks about Fridays, what he thinks about politics, reasons he thinks some of his teachers are idiotic, a number of other random shit that Adam doesn’t feel like telling other people but that Selkie listens to with rapt attention. 

  
  


-

  
  


Selkie is lying on his stomach under the tree when Adam arrives. It’s hot here now, summer is arrived, crackling the grass into spiky stalks and pushing all of the students into the pre-holiday mania which somehow induces both complete weariness and wearying excitement. Adam doesn’t understand why. Most of his classmates, like him, were just going to have to spend all summer working, a lot of it in factories or outside in the scorching heat, and surely even double algebra in a room with working fans was better than that. 

 

“You’re late,” Selkie says from his spot under the tree. He has a book under his face, his cheek pressing into the page, eyelashes bent up against paper. “Thought you weren’t coming. Had to scare off, like, your whole fucking school while I waited.” 

 

“It’s a chill spot,” Adam says, dumping his bag down near Selkie’s feet and then dropping himself, knees first, onto the ground near Selkie’s hips. “I got held up talking to my teacher.”

 

“God,” Selkie says, pushes himself up on his elbows, closes his book, “you’re such a nerd.” 

 

“I just wanna do well,” Adam says, not a protest, just a habit, “what are you reading?” 

 

“I figured you’d’ve recognised it seeing as you suggested it,” Selkie replies, which isn’t a reply. He sits up and shoves the book into his bag which is crumpled beside him. 

 

“Be like that then,” Adam says. He’s going to say his whole litany of dumb shit now, but he stalls when Selkie turns back to him, phone in hand and pensive expression on his face. “What?” Adam says instead. 

 

“I can’t meet up here at lunch times anymore,” Selkie says bluntly. 

 

Adam isn’t sure how he’s supposed to respond to this. It’s probably been a long time coming, honestly, this had gone on much longer than it ought to have. It’s just that he was used to it now. Liked it now. Looked forward to it now. 

 

“Oh,” he says, “ok.” 

 

“Mum says I can either tell her where I’m going so she can write a note excusing me from school, or I can stop skipping school because she doesn’t want to get any more calls about my being absent, or whatever.” 

 

Adam shrugs. This is more information about Selkie’s homelife than he’d ever heard, and all it shows is that Selkie’s mother is absolutely nicer than Adam’s mother, which isn’t a surprise. He’d been going to lie down in the scraggly grass next to Selkie, but he stays sitting, and digs his fingers into the dirt instead. “Sucks to be you,” he says. 

 

“Dick,” Selkie replies with a scoff. 

 

He sounds nervous. Like he thinks Adam is going to be angry. This isn’t a break up because this wasn’t anything more than a hook up so Adam has nothing to be angry about so Selkie has nothing to be nervous about, so - 

 

“So I was thinking,” Selkie continues, slow, nerves even more evident, “look, I know you work a lot and don’t have time or whatever, but I thought we could meet up outside of school instead. Probably safer too, like, less chance your classmates are gonna walk in on us kissing.” 

 

Huh. 

 

“Oh,” Adam says again, frowns, twists his fingers around grass and tugs some out, dirt clinging steadfastly to roots. “Oh.” 

 

“Just say no if you don’t wanna,” Selkie grunts. He’s pushing himself properly up now, shuffling around so he’s sitting up, and pushing himself backwards up against his bag and the tree trunk, “If you want this to be... contained or whatever, I get it.” 

 

“No,” Adam says, “I mean - I mean, nah, I would like to keep meeting up. You’re right about it being safer. I’ve been thinking we should meet somewhere else too. I mean, the holidays are right around the corner, anyway, we’d need to find somewhere else soon.” 

 

“Right,” Selkie says, “so, ok, look. Just to make this more fucking convenient? So we can say when and where without having to wait a whole week to change it?” He holds the phone out to Adam. Adam just stares at it. “Take it,” Selkie says. 

 

Adam does not take it. “What?” 

 

“It’s my younger brother’s old phone. He got a new one for his birthday. This is just - it’s a spare now, so I thought if you took it then we could communicate and things would be easier. Or whatever.” 

 

“I can’t just take it,” Adam protests. 

 

“The hell not?” Selkie grunts, “This’ll make shit so much easier, and I swear, if you don’t take it I’m just gonna chuck it in the trash. It’d be a waste of a phone. C’mon.” 

 

About 98% of Adam is telling him that there is no way in hell he is taking that phone. That would be against his personal rules in about a million different ways. The remaining 2% however, is eying up how sleek and small the phone was, and how easy it would be to hide, and how much easier it would be to communicate with his jobs without his parents overhearing, and how he could surf the internet NOT in a public place, and how he could text Selkie and say ‘hey wanna make out?’ and not wait a whole week to itch a scratch. That 2% takes the phone from Selkie’s outstretched hand, albeit embarrassed, red faced, avoiding eye contact. 

 

“I cleared everything off it,” Selkie says, sounding suddenly a hell of a lot more relaxed, “and put my number in. So like. I got a new sim for it, and it came with a free one month plan, so like. You’re set for the month.” 

 

Adam does like hearing the word ‘free’ in there. 

 

“Ok,” he says to the grass. 

 

“Chill,” Selkie says, “you wanna make out?” 

  
  


-

  
  


Selkie

4:09

-whn r u free? 

 

Adam

6:09

~Not today. 

~I could do sunday avo?

 

7:02

-12

 

7:08

~sure

~where?

 

7:25

-you knw the vacant lot on prince st? The abandoned fctory?

 

7:30

~yeah

 

7:32

-meet you there?

 

7:40

~ok. 

 

-

  
  


Sunday takes a long time to get to. But it always works that way, doesn’t it? Time always runs past you so damn quick, never enough time to sleep, never enough time to get all the homework done, to go to all the jobs, to get your head screwed on straight to figure out your life. Except when there’s something you’re looking forward to, such as, making out in an abandoned lot?    
  
Usually Adam’s sense of time flow was that irritating rush of never having enough time yet being painfully aware of every slow minute dragging past him and sitting heavily ahead of him, blocking his way out of here. Ten years of minutes to go. Nine years. Eight years. Three years now. Three more years of minutes that are holding him back. Three more years of dragging himself through work and school and work and school and the trailer and work and the trailer and  _ then _ he could get away. For whoever knows how many more years of minutes of work and school, but without the damned trailer in the mix. 

 

Now he just has three days of minutes to get through, and it turns out that the shorter time left the longer each minute takes and it’s driving him crazy. It shouldn’t be. It hadn’t been like this at school. Maybe because it was part of his school day. Sure, the period before he would meet with Selkie always felt longer than usual with anticipation, but the rest of the week would be at it’s usual maddening pace. Adam doesn’t know how he’s supposed to explain it - is it causing more anticipation because it’s somewhere new? Does he feel like it means something more because they’re moving away from school? Does it mean something more because they’re carving time out for each other? He doesn’t want to explain it. 

 

-

 

When Sunday finally arrives, Adam cycles to the meet up place a little early in an effort to calm his nerves which shouldn’t be as loud as they were, and discovers that Selkie is already there, sitting on a longboard and staring up at the blue sky above him.  He doesn’t appear to realise that Adam is there, even as Adam walks his bike right up to him. 

 

“Hey,” Adam says, and Selkie jerks a little, causing the longboard to jolt underneath him, and then to escape from under him, dumping him on the ground. 

 

Selkie swears loudly, but doesn’t make any move to try and stop the longboard from careening off across the lot. He just sits there, ass in gravel, and looks up at Adam. 

 

“You’re early,” he says

 

“So are you,” Adam points out,  nudges Selkie’s thigh with his foot, “problem?” 

 

Selkie immediately grabs at Adam’s foot, not pulling him off balance, just disturbing his balance slightly, especially when he doesn’t let go. “No problem,” he says, “there’s a good grassy spot behind this shithole building. No one’ll see us.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says. 

  
  


-

  
  


They meet up in the abandoned lot most often, sometimes in a park on the outskirts of town, occasionally, if they’re feeling daring and not like kissing, at truck stop diners. Adam tries to avoid the diners as much as possible, not for fear of recognition, but because that means spending money.

 

-

 

The last week of holidays is one of the few times he agrees to the diner, because he had really good hours that week and had some spare cash and was really craving a cold coke. 

 

It wasn’t a date, the diner days, because they weren’t together. Honestly, at this point Adam had accepted that they were definitely friends, albeit friends who didn’t know each other’s real names (even though Selkie KNEW Adam’s real name, he didn’t KNOW he knew it), but they were still just make out buddies. That was it. Even if Selkie did hold Adam’s hand underneath the diner table, even if he did rub his hand on the outside of Adam’s thigh when Adam took his hand away to eat the fries. 

 

“I don’t wanna go back to school,” Selkie says when the bowl of fries is halfway depleted and his coke is just melty ice. 

 

“You’ll get to  hang with your friends,” Adam offers, shoving five fries in his mouth at once, “don’t all other Aglionby boys go away for the holidays? You must’ve missed them.” 

 

Selkie snorts. 

 

“Is this you fucking asking why I didn’t go on holiday?” 

 

“You are an Aglionby boy, right?” Adam says, this question not exactly daring now he’s known Selkie for so long. 

 

“Yeah,” Selkie says, “unfortunately.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, “it’s not like there’s any where else near here you could have been going, so like. Whatever. Why didn’t you go on holiday then?” 

 

“My dad was busy with work,” Selkie replies promptly, “anyway. It doesn’t matter, because I don’t fucking have friends at Aglionby.” 

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Adam replies, grateful that Selkie hadn’t thrown the question back at him. Although, he was sure Selkie must already know the answer even if Adam avoided ever talking about it. “ _ You _ don’t have friends?” 

 

“Why?” Selkie says, with another snort, “You think I seem popular? Cool?” 

 

Actually, yes. Adam did think that. He would more willingly let Selkie pay for the fries than admit he thought Selkie was really, really cool, though. 

 

“Nah,” he drawls, “I just thought you were the kind of dude with friends in the classroom that like, always disrupt class.” 

 

“Nah,” Selkie repeats, chucks a fry at Adam, “I’ve never been good at making friends. Apparently I come off as a snob, or like, cold. Or weird. Or whatever. It doesn’t matter.” 

 

“Huh,” Adam says, says something more daring, more stupid, “transfer to Mountain View, then. I’ll be your fucking friend.” 

 

“Thought you were already,” Selkie says, chucks another fry. 

 

Adam bats the fry onto the table. 

 

“Stop wasting food,” he says, then, “sure. We are. But we’d have an excuse to be if you were at Mountain View.” 

 

“I dunno,” Selkie says, “then you’d know my real name.” 

 

This is something Adam has been thinking about. 

 

“Would that really be so bad?” he tries, “You don’t trust me even now?” 

 

“Don’t be a dumbass,” Selkie grunts, throws yet another fry. “I trust you.” 

 

“So why -?” Adam begins, and Selkie cuts him off with another grunt and a shake of his head. 

 

“It’s not about  _ you _ ,” he says, almost harsh, “I’m just - I can’t complain about my life, ok? But it’s -  it’s sometimes smoth- smothering. It’s nice to be - to just - to not have to be  _ me _ sometimes. If I tell you my name I would have to be  _ me _ .” 

 

Adam gets it. He never wants to be in the life he’s in. He wants to be himself though, just, a different version of himself. He wants to take the Adam he is and turn himself into an Adam he’s proud of. 

 

“Ok,” Adam shrugs, tries not to look or sound disappointed. He chucks one of the fallen fries back at Selkie, “sure. You can stick with Aglionby then, raven boy.” 

 

Selkie snorts. 

  
  


-

  
  


The difference in Selkie is noticeable the very first time they meet up again after school starts. First of all, he’s a little late to the park they’re meeting at, secondly, he’s grinning. Not smiling, grinning. He flops down next to Adam in the long grass by the dilapidated bench, flips his long curls out of his eyes, and leans in to kiss Adam straight on the mouth. Usually they say hello first. Check the perimeter first. Right now, though, Selkie tastes like mint and his mouth is warm, and Adam hadn’t seen anyone else in the park, so he just kisses back. 

 

“You’re cheerful,” he says, “school wasn’t as bad as you thought?” 

 

“I met this complete dumbass,” Selkie says, kisses Adam again, “y’know our abandoned lot?” 

 

“Uh,” Adam says, meets Selkie’s mouth for another kiss, “obviously I do.” 

 

“This dude, Gansey,  _ bought it _ and is going to renovate it into a flat to live in.” 

 

“What?” Adam snorts, “Why?” 

 

“He’s just moved here,” Selkie says, shifts closer to Adam to cup his hands around Adam’s face, “and he does not want to live in the Aglionby dorms. His parents don’t live in town. So like. He’s making his own place.” 

 

“Wow,” Adam says. 

 

“He’s so weird,” Selkie continues. He’s shrugging his bag off of his shoulders even as he holds onto Adam, “I spent all afternoon at the lot with him actually inside the building. It’s wrecked, man.” 

 

Selkie does not call Adam man. It’s weird as shit. 

 

“Wow,” Adam repeats. 

 

Selkie lowers his voice now, says, “I missed you,” kisses Adam again. 

 

“Don’t be dumb,” Adam replies, even as his stomach warms, “I saw you a week ago.” 

 

“Still,” Selkie says. 

 

-

 

Selkie isn’t always late when they meet up, but he does always talk about this Gansey guy, which is. Fine. It is fine. Adam reminds himself this very firmly everytime Selkie brings him up. It’s just that Selkie is so… enamoured with him. Constantly charmed and exasperated by him. Is always telling Adam stories that Gansey had told him. 

 

“I’m gonna help him move all his furniture and shit into his new place,” Selkie tells him one day soon after, “it actually looks kind of cool in there. Gonna be cold as shit in winter though.” 

 

“Uh-huh,” Adam says. 

 

They’re sitting in the park, their new main hook up spot now that the no longer abandoned lot was out of commission. Adam is doing his homework while Selkie lies with his head in Adam’s lap. Something Adam likes but pretends is detrimental in getting his homework done. 

 

“He can be really jocky at school,” Selkie continues, “like, he immediately joined like five sports and all the jocks at school love him, but he’s super…. Like. Sweet. My parents love him -” 

 

“Maybe you should kiss him instead,” Adam says before he realises that those were the words his mouth had lined up to spit out. 

 

Selkie looks up at him in utter confusion, face twisted. Adam’s face is burning. He looks away from Selkie and leans back so he’s not curled over Selkie’s head anymore, stares up at the sky. 

 

“What?” Selkie says. 

 

“Kiss him,” Adam repeats unhelpfully. It’s not just his face burning. He feels like there’s a hot wire coiled around his ribs, his esophagus. “He’s so cool. He’s so sweet. You take him to yours. He knows your name. Kiss him.” 

 

“Hey,” Selkie says, sitting up, out of Adam’s lap, and swivelling on his butt to look at Adam, a scowl on his face, “what the hell, man?” 

 

Adam refuses to look at him properly. 

 

“What the hell?” Selkie repeats, “Are you seriously jealous, right now?” 

 

“No,” Adam snaps, “why would I be jealous? We’re not together or anything. I’m just pointing out that it would be nicer for you to hook up with someone more convenient? Or do you want to date him? That sounds more likely.” 

 

“You’re such an asshole,” Selkie snaps back at him. 

 

“Yeah,” Adam agrees, “but Gansey isn’t.”

 

He can feel Selkie staring at him. 

 

“Fine,” Selkie says after a few heated moments, “maybe I will kiss Gansey then. How do you feel about that?” 

 

“Fine,” Adam says roughly. He shifts forwards so he can snap his homework shut, and starts shuffling everything together to put in his bag. “Completely fine.” 

 

“You wouldn’t give a shit?” Selkie asks loudly, “Even though you’re the one who’s like - who’s like - who’s like kiss crazy?” 

 

“Shut the hell up,” Adam says back, louder, manhandles his bag shut, swings it over his shoulders, “I don’t care. I don’t care. It’s what I expect.” 

 

Selkie’s face is thunderous. He obviously has a lot he wants to say here but Adam doesn’t want to hear it. He turns on heel, grabs his bike from where it was propped up against a nearby tree, and speed walks it out of the park. 

  
  


-

  
  


Selkie texts him the next day, a Friday. 

 

10:08 PM

-im fucking sorry, ok? 

 

10:30

~why would you be sorry?

 

10:35

-I was trying to make you jealoius.

 

10:38

~asshole.

 

10:42

-i mean he is super cute or whatever and maybe id like to kiss him but like. Man. i wouldnt kiss him when you and me are kissing. 

 

10:50

~we’re not dating. It wouldnt be cheating. 

 

10:55

-itd feel like it. I dont wanna do that. To me or you. 

 

10:57

~gay

~sorry for being a shit head

 

11:00

-same

 

11:01

~i would be jealosu if you kissed him

 

11:02

-i know

-;)

 

11:05

~fuck off

 

11:08

-i missed you. Can we meet up tomorrow? 

 

11:09

~ok. 

 

-

 

Saturday they meet up in the diner, partially because they’re meeting up at six and Adam needs food, and partially because it’s too cold today to meet in the park, and partially because he wants to be somewhere he won’t be tempted to just kiss Selkie instead of talking. 

 

When Selkie turns up, Adam’s already seated at their usual booth, and Selkie just slides in next to him, grabs a fry from the bowl Adam’s already ordered, and narrows his eyes at Adam. 

 

“What?” Adam says. 

 

“You still mad?” Selkie asks casually. 

 

Adam shrugs. “No.” 

 

“Are you lying?” 

 

“Only a bit. Are you still mad?” 

 

“No,” Selkie says, “and I’m not lying either. Do you  _ want _ to come ‘round to mine?” 

 

“What?” Adam asks, chokes a little on the fry he’d  _ just _ put in his mouth. 

 

Selkie shifts uncomfortably. “I mean,” he says, “that’s one of the things you mentioned the other day. Like. Do you want to? I mean -” 

 

Adam just wants to defuse this situation right the hell now. “Nah,” he says, swallows hard, “I’m - I was being a prick. You can have your freaking privacy, ok? I don’t wanna come ‘round.” 

 

Selkie looks at him for a long moment, and then shrugs. “Ok,” he says easily, takes more fries, “cool. I’m not gonna kiss Gansey.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says to the table, “cool.” 

 

“Even if we’re not… not dating,” Selkie mumbles, picks at a chip in lacquer on the table, “I’m not gonna do anything with anyone else.  That’s not how I - I have morals, y’know.” 

 

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” Adam says, a slow attempt at lightening the mood. He slips his hand onto Selkie’s knee under the table, squeezes it carefully. “Same, though. Y’know. I won’t.” 

 

“Ok,” Selkie says. He shifts his hand under the table as well, hooks his fingers around Adam’s thumb, “thanks.” 

 

-

 

Things appear to go back to normal. They meet up again a couple of days later in the park to make out. They text almost every day, something they started doing at the beginning of the holidays, just dumb shit. It’s normal. Adam pretends he isn’t jealous of Gansey. Pretends he doesn’t desperately want to ask Selkie what his name is. Pretends he doesn’t want so badly to ask if they could maybe actually just date instead of pretend they weren’t.

Then Selkie doesn’t answer his texts for a full day, and then two full days. Then. Selkie texts him late on a Saturday night while Adam’s taking a quick break at wok.

 

He’s closing Boyd’s that night, it’s just him and the car he’s working on, so there’s no one around to watch him take a quick break by just lying down on the concrete and closing his eyes, or to watch his confusion over Selkie’s texts. 

 

10:58 PM 

-i need to see you

-please

-where are you?

-ill come to you

 

11:01

~i’m at work. Whats wrong?

 

11:02

-where? can i come

 

11:06

~boyds mechanics? Do you know it? Im on closing. No one else is here. So yeah. Whats wrong dude??

 

11:07

-im close bgy im coming now

 

-

 

Adam is in no way sure of what he is expecting for when Selkie arrives. Is he drunk? Did he and Gansey have a fight? Does he have good news? Bad news? 

 

He is certainly not expecting to open the door to find Selkie standing there in the dark, shaking and wet faced. 

 

“Wh-” Adam begins, but Selkie gets in first by stepping forwards to kiss him hard. Adam lets Selkie kiss him for a few moments, pulling them inside and closing the door while they kiss, and then when Selkie pulls them back against the door, pulling Adam into pushing him up against it, Adam pulls away and tries again. “What’s going on?” he tries, “You don’t text me back for a couple of days and now - now this?” 

 

Selkie shakes his head, tries to kiss Adam again, but Adam evades easily. Selkie’s still shaking against him, Adam can feel Selkie’s tears on his own face. 

 

“What’s goin’ on?” He tries again, softer, tugs at Selkie so he can wrap his arms around Selkie’s waist in a cheap imitation of a hug, “What’s wrong?” 

 

Selkie shakes his head again, opens his mouth to say something, chokes on a sob, tips himself forward to press his face in against Adam’s shoulder. 

 

Adam has no fucking clue what to do. People don’t come to him for comfort. He hasn’t received enough comfort to know what it’s supposed to look like. He holds Selkie, doesn’t try to persuade Selkie to look up or move. Feels the tears soak the shoulder of his coveralls. Wonders about how easily he’d told Selkie where he worked. Wants to call Selkie by his real name. 

 

“It’s ok,” he says eventually, having decided that that was possibly in the comfort retinue of normal people, “you’re ok.” 

 

“It’s not ok,” Selkie replies immediately, words sounding torn out of him, his whole body heaves against Adam’s, whether in an aborted movement or a sob, Adam didn’t know, “it’s not ok, it’s not ok. It’s never gonna be ok.” 

 

Adam knows that feeling inside and out. He still has no idea what they’re talking about though. “It will be,” he says, “not now, I guess, but. It will be eventually. You’ll be ok.” 

 

Selkie is shaking his head against Adam’s shoulder, hands gripping sporadically at the back of Adam’s coveralls, seemingly clawing for a better purchase. Adam reaches around himself to capture Selkie’s hands, pulls them in between them, does his best to bundle Selkie up against his chest, arms around Selkie’s shoulders. Selkie’s a lot broader than Adam, so it’s difficult, but as soon as Adam’s done this, Selkie relaxes into it, doesn’t try to shift out of it. He’s gripping onto the front of Adam’s shirt, face still pressed into Adam’s shoulders, wild curls pressing into Adam’s face. 

Adam has no fucking clue what’s going on. Except that he needs to just fucking hold Selkie. That’s all he knows. So that’s all he does. 

 

Eventually, once Adam’s coverall shoulder is very wet, and he’s started to slowly rub his hand up and down Selkie’s back, and Selkie’s breathing has evened out, he thinks it’s safe to try the talking thing again, but the buzzing from Selkie’s jean pockets forestalls that. 

  
“Do you need to get that?” Adam asks, and Selkie shakes his head, then hesitates, then nods. The phone stops buzzing. “You could call back?” Adam asks. 

 

“Nah,” Selkie sighs, “he’ll call again in a moment.” He peels himself away from Adam, pulls his phone out of his back pocket, and holds it up. It starts to buzz again. Selkie answers. Or. He presses the answer button and holds the phone to his ear, but he doesn’t say anything. 

 

Adam can vaguely hear a voice on the other end, a possibly annoyed sounding male voice, but that’s all. Selkie makes a vague noise in response to whatever is being said. The annoyed voice says something more. Selkie makes another vague noise. The other person hangs up. 

 

“You ok?” Adam tries. 

 

Selkie doesn’t look at him, just stares at the floor for a long moment. “I have to go,” he says, “there’s something - there’s something wrong with mum.” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says. 

 

Selkie lifts his head to look at Adam, then steps forward again quickly and presses himself hard against Adam’s front, kissing him roughly. Adam attempts to meet this kiss appropriately, and then Selkie’s pulling away again, wiping at his face. 

 

“Thanks,” he mumbles. 

 

“It’s all good,” Adam replies, because he doesn't know what else to say. He thinks maybe he’s too young to know what to say. Then Selkie leaves. 

  
  


-

  
  


Adam texts Selkie that night, to see if he’d gotten home ok, to see if he was ok. He receives no answer. He figures that’s fair, seeing as Selkie was obviously having trouble at home. He doesn’t text Selkie the next day. Giving him time to deal with whatever it was, to come to Adam when he had the time or the energy or whatever. 

 

Selkie doesn’t text him. 

 

Adam waits a week. 

 

He texts Selkie. Selkie doesn’t reply. He hopes that it’s just Selkie’s dislike of texting, not Selkie disliking him. Maybe he’d handled that night horribly. Maybe he hadn’t said something he should have. Maybe he had said something he shouldn’t have. He didn’t know. Selkie doesn’t text him. 

 

A month passes. That slow drag of minutes into hours into days. Selkie doesn’t text him. Adam is all itch all day every day. Not just for the kissing. But for the companionship. For the friendship. For the skin on skin, the hand holding, the smiles, the feel of Selkie’s curls against his cheek, the teasing, the everything. 

 

Selkie does not text him. 

 

Another month passes. His father is in a mood that’s lasting a week rather than just a night, and Adam, in a fit of needing an out, calls Selkie. He’s not sure why. If he wants to yell at him for ignoring him, if he wants to just hear his voice, if he wants closure? The phone rings for an uncomfortably long time, and then it’s answered by an automated voice. For just a moment, Adam has this hope that he’ll get to hear Selkie’s real name in his voicemail at the very least, but the automated voice simply drones out each digit of Selkie’s phone number, and suggests he leaves a message. 

 

Adam does not leave a message. 

 

A third month is gone while Adam isn’t paying attention because he’s busy with school and work and the balancing act of not upsetting his father and then he must have dropped something because he upsets his father and his father tears apart his room after tearing him apart, and the phone, of all things, is found. 

 

Adam does not have an explanation for the phone. He does have a lock for the phone. He refuses to unlock it. His father is unpleased. Everything is unpleasant. 

 

Adam buys a new sim card for his father. He puts it in the phone. The phone now belongs to his father. He keeps his sim card. Puts it with his paperwork and savings as if it was something special. It wasn’t special. It isn’t special. He shouldn’t keep it. 

  
  
  


-

  
  


There is not much Adam has to say about his life, or his hobbies, or what he enjoys. 

 

He’s in a holding pattern. 

 

He’s behind the bars waiting for his release date. 

 

He’s waiting. 

 

Even when he’s moving up and closer and closer to leaving, he’s still just waiting. 

 

He makes plans to get into Aglionby - not to find Selkie, like his brain suggests sometimes at three AM - to make universities more likely to accept him. 

 

He wants to get out and get out to somewhere so good that he can’t accidentally fall back into here. 

 

He gets into Aglionby. 

 

He can’t just start immediately, he has to wait for the next term. 

 

He waits. 

 

He is so good at waiting. 

 

That’s his biggest hobby. 

 

Waiting. 

 

Waiting and examining every part of himself to find where he’s lacking. 

 

He’s lacking everywhere. 

 

But. He got into Aglionby. So at least. Something was going right. 

 

-

 

His first day of Aglionby is a mess. 

 

-

 

He gets to class late, thanks to his father. He’s not sure if his father is just mad that he’s going, and is expressing it in his favourite way, or if he’s attempting to make Adam rethink going, or, if he’s attempting to give Adam a bad reputation by making him late and bruised and scuffed up for his very first day walking into a den of rich bastard ravens. 

 

It’s not going to work. Well. The bad reputation bit might, but hopefully not for long, not for the teachers. Hopefully his grades would work for the teachers to overlook the blood he couldn’t manage to wipe off as he cycled to school. He wasn’t going to quit. He was gonna get through this even if it killed him. 

 

His first class is Science and he’s twelve minutes late. He does his best to circumnavigate unnecessary time loss by going to the office first for a late slip, so when he knocks at the door of the Science room, he can wave his white flag (pink slip) at the teacher. 

 

This does not save him from the teacher’s disappointment, or irritation, or from the teacher introducing him as ‘Mr Parrish who obviously got lost in a dumpster on the way here’ in front of the class, and then dismissing him into a seat at the very front of the class. 

 

He’s good at Science, so at least, at least, the entire class isn’t a flop even if two different people ask him who he got his bruises from. 

 

He’s at his next class on time, but he’s still as scuffed up as he was for Science class which means his teacher still lifts an eyebrow at him, and some of his classmates are the same and they introduce him to the teacher as ‘Dumpster Parrish’, and the teacher raises his eyebrows more and says, ‘Oh, the scholarship student’, and that really entertains the other students, although Adam is reasonably certain the teacher hadn’t meant to be unkind. It is Maths, however, and he’s also good at Math, so. So. He can work his way through the class, he can ignore the ‘Dumpster Parrish’s’ whispered behind him in favour of the numbers in front of him. 

 

It isn’t until his third class of the morning that the real awful thing happens. He’d just spent all of the short morning tea break in the library, acquainting himself with the computer system and the layout, because that is always useful to be familiar with, so he was in an almost  relaxed mood (in comparison to how he had felt before, anyway), when he sat down in History class after being introduced yet again to students who he had already had classes with the majority of, and the teacher began to read the roll, and out of the blue, like a sucker punch, ‘Richard Gansey’ is called out. 

 

This should not be out of the blue. Or a sucker punch. Or a surprise at all at all at all because Adam knew that Gansey went to Aglionby, he knew he would probably see him. He had even come to terms with the fact that he would probably bump into Selkie, though he was very relieved he hadn’t yet,  but still. He jerked in his seat as Gansey’s name was called, turning quickly to see who answered. 

 

Gansey was a ridiculously good looking boy. His uniform looked stupidly good on him, like it had been tailored to fit his body and his colouring. He answered the teacher with an easy word, and then, as if sensing Adam’s gaze, turned, and offered an easier smile to him. 

 

It was like being stabbed in the lungs. 

 

Selkie wasn’t seated beside Gansey, or behind him, or in front of him. He couldn’t see Selkie anywhere. He wasn’t in here. It was just Gansey. Gansey and his awful good looks, and his obvious popularity, and his hideous wealth, and the fact that he probably still knew Selkie and Adam didn’t. 

 

History is very hard to get through. 

 

Lunch is even worse. Lunch is even worse because as he makes his way to the library to hide out for the next 45 minutes, Gansey intercepts him. He peels off from a crowd of students and beelines directly for Adam, and although Adam speedwalks as fast as he can, Gansey catches him. 

 

“Hello,” he says, his voice all cheery and moneyed and kind, “you’re Adam Parrish, yes?” 

 

Well. The teacher did just, like, an hour ago, tell the entire class this. 

 

“Yes,” Adam says, “Richard, yeah.” 

 

Gansey winces. “Well,” he says, “yes. But I prefer to go by Gansey.” 

 

Adam knows this. He nods. 

 

“You’re here on scholarship, yes?” Gansey asks.

 

Adam wants to escape. 

 

“Yes.” he says. Considers following this up with, ‘you’re here on your parent’s dime, right?’ but, well, most children did go to school on their parent’s dime. That wasn’t actually a cutting comment. He also should probably not be a little shit on his first day of school. 

 

“That’s really cool,” Gansey says enthusiastically, “you must have worked really hard, your grades must be amazing.” 

 

“They’re ok,” Adam says. They were fantastic. 

 

“We should study together sometime,” Gansey says, “my roommates are the worst at studying and I have this great feeling that you and I will work really well together.” 

 

Adam feels like he’s being secretly filmed. Like this is a prank. Maybe it’s something they do to all scholarship kids. He refuses to look around for the cameras. He refuses to glance over his shoulder for smirks. He looks Gansey straight on, daring him to break character, to break the charade by sniggering, or whatever. Gansey continues to look enthusiastic and earnest and hot. 

 

“Maybe,” Adam says. 

 

Gansey smiles. Adam feels vaguely guilty for expecting him to be the sniggering type. 

 

“I’ll see you around, then?” Gansey says, which also pisses Adam off a little bit because, yes, obviously he’ll see him around they’re in the same class they go to the same school. 

 

“Sure,” Adam says. He escapes to the library. 

 

In retrospect, he’s very, very aware that he didn’t so much object to Gansey’s bright and friendly disposition and obvious statements as he did to his own still carefully bottled up year old jealousy. Disgusting, quite honestly. 

 

It doesn’t get better. His next class, the last one for the day after home room, was Latin. He didn’t exactly want to take Latin, but, his schedule didn’t fit into any of the other languages, and he knew that college applications liked to see languages, and at least Latin would look  _ impressive _ . But honestly. How pretentious did a school have to be to offer Latin as a mainstream course? Not even a video call class, a class with a full room of students. Also disgusting. 

 

-

  
  


He makes sure he’s the first one to class. He’s hoping that if he’s already seated then the teacher won’t call him out to introduce him. Surely he’d met most of, if not all, of his classmates already in other classes. He’s so sick of standing in front of the class with his still purpling cheek and listening to the susurrus of gossip happening in front of him while he’s introduced, always, as the new scholarship student. 

 

He sits near the front of the class, gets his books out so he can go over the material, because, god. Latin. He doesn’t know any Latin. He has his head bent over his books by the time the rest of his classmates dredge in. He recognises the voices of some of them already, their loud and raucous tones too easy to pick out. That one, for example, was Tad Carruthers from Math and History. He had opinions about things and he stated them with obnoxious confidence even when he was wrong. Adam hated him because he felt that if he could pick out such an obvious character flaw in just two classes, Carruthers was absolutely a twit. Someone calls out a greeting to Gansey, which is how Adam realises they share the class, and he ducks a look around his shoulder to look at Gansey a few desks over from him chatting easily with someone else who’s name Adam can’t remember. 

 

His gaze slides off of Gansey and onto the boy behind him because Adam can feel the boy staring at him. It’s a little bit of a shock to look at the boy and be greeted by the most intense glare he thinks he’s ever received. He turns quickly back around in his seat, confused and pissed off. Did that asshole dislike Adam looking at Gansey? Had he heard he was the scholarship kid so hated him on principle? Or did his face just naturally look like that? It matched his shaved head and pierced ears for sure. On second thought, Adam wishes he hadn’t looked away because he doesn’t want to be seen as easily intimidated and by looking away from such a glare he probably looked soft. Damn it. 

 

The teacher comes in. He looks as bored with being at school as Adam feels like most of his class looks. He barely spares a glance at Adam, just begins the lesson with the roll in a toneless sort of way. Well. Not only was the language dead, their teacher may as well be too. 

 

When Adam acknowledges his name being called, there’s a loud ‘kuh’ from behind him, and he (along with half the class) turn to look at the source of the noise. It’s the bald boy, head on his arms on his desk, scalp turned towards Adam. Gansey is looking at him as well. 

 

“Something to say, Lynch?” Carruthers calls from across the room. 

 

The teacher looks like he has something to say about people talking in the middle of roll taking, but Lynch gets in first by sliding one of his arms out from under his head and lifting his hand towards Adam, and, without looking, pulling the finger at him. The class laughs. Adam’s stomach drops. He turns back to the front of the class as Gansey hisses something at Lynch. 

 

God. What the hell. 

 

The class is awful. Not just because it had started with being flipped off for no apparent reason and the whole class finding it funny, but also because Latin was hard and Adam was not fucking used to finding class this difficult. 

 

When the bell rings, he stays where he is, intent on talking to the teacher to ask for some extra homework and some extra help to try and catch up as much as he can. Before anyone else has even got up from their desks, Lynch is in front of Adam’s. 

 

“Ronan,” Gansey calls disapprovingly from behind them, but Ronan - Lynch - ignores this in favour of rapping his knuckles harshly on the top of Adam’s desk. 

 

Adam stares at the hands. They’re all split knuckles and white scars and topped off with definitely not uniform approved leather bracelets on his wrists. He has no desire to look up at the face of Ronan Lynch. He ignores the rapping, shuts his book, begins to put his stuff into his bag. 

 

“Seriously?” Lynch grits out, his voice all gravel.

 

Adam shrugs. 

 

“Fuck you,” Lynch spits, and leaves, just as Gansey joins him at the desk. 

 

“Oh,” Gansey says. Adam looks up now. Gansey looks almost distraught. “I’m sorry about Ronan.” 

 

“It’s whatever,” Adam says. 

 

“I don’t know why he’s so - what he’s so pissed off about,” Gansey begins. 

 

“He’s feral man,” Another student says loudly as they pass him and Gansey, “a mad dog.” 

 

“He’s probably drunk,” someone else offers, “mistook our charity case here for his bro.” 

 

“I’m in charge of you at rowing practice in half an hour,” Gansey says sharply back to the second speaker, “I can and will make you spend all session doing burpees if you don’t watch your tongue.” 

 

There’s tittering but no other suggestions. Gansey looks back to Adam. 

 

“I’m not going to make excuses for him,” Gansey says, “but I hope you’ll give him another chance.” 

 

Adam shrugs, “I don’t think he’s gonna give me another chance, man, so, I think it’s a moot point.” 

 

Gansey looks pained. 

 

“Oh shit,” Adam adds, “the teacher’s gone.” 

 

“Oh,” Gansey says, “yes. He always leaves quickly. Did you need to ask him something? Can I help?” 

 

“Uh,” Adam says. Hates this school so much. “I’ve never done Latin before, honestly, I was gonna ask him for like - extra homework. Or something.” 

 

“I’ve got some notes I could give you,” Gansey suggests, “I have them in my locker for when my brain refuses to work in other languages. I could photocopy them for you right now?” 

 

“That would be useful,” Adam admits, “thank you.” 

 

-

 

Perhaps the first day wasn’t entirely a flop, but it was still pretty awful. Made more awful by the fact that he has work straight after, and then it rains when he cycles home, and then he has chores, and then he has homework. He just wants to sleep. 

 

The next day is very similar to the previous, except he’s not late, his bruises are older, and Ronan Lynch doesn’t look at him, let alone pull the finger or swear at him, even though it turns out he’s in Adam’s Science class now - causing a commotion with the teacher who was pissed off he hadn’t come to the first day of class. It rains on the way home again. 

 

The entire week follows this pattern. Adam pretending he fits in, the majority of the school subtly, and not so subtly, informing him that he doesn’t. Gansey chatting with him in History class and after Latin. He’s beginning to wonder if maybe the reason Selkie never texted him back was because he’d moved away or something. And that’s why Adam hasn’t seen him here at Aglionby, and that’s why he was so upset that last night. He’s had this theory before, but the Aglionby element adds something new to the plausibility of it. Of course, there was always the possibility that he had seen Selkie and just not recognised him, or that Selkie had seen him and been avoiding him. It was possible. They could take all different classes. They could even take the same class and Selkie just didn’t talk much or something. Adam wouldn’t know where to start looking because he doesn’t know what name to look out for. Maybe this is a cop out. Maybe Adam doesn’t actually want to rediscover Selkie at the school because that would mean so many emotions and Adam does not have the time or energy for any more emotions currently. 

 

He just wants to sleep. 

 

-

 

Sometimes he wonders if he’d managed to keep his phone hidden, if Selkie would have eventually texted him. Or called him. Extremely unlikely after so long. Adam knows this. Can’t help but wonder, though. Also can’t help but keep that stupid sim card. 

 

-

 

The second week brings some interesting insight into Gansey’s life. 

 

It’s Thursday, the very end of the school day, and he and Gansey are standing by Gansey’s locker because it’s almost routine now. Finish Latin and hang out by Gansey’s locker for a bit to chat about classes while Adam pretends he fits in and Gansey pretends to believe him. Today’s routine is cut short by a group of people Adam thinks are all in the Aglionby rowing team (which Gansey apparently captains), half jogging up to Gansey. The one in front speaks. 

 

“Gansey man,” he says, sounding very amused, “your girlfriend’s out in the front car park getting beaten the hell up.” 

 

Gansey swears, which, according to the short time Adam has known him, is out of character for him. He swears again, slams his locker door shut, and then says; “Adam, can you come? I might need a hand.” 

 

Adam thinks his current state could probably be classified as confusion. He follows Gansey because Gansey hasn’t waited for an answer, he’s just taken off with an expected yes. 

 

In the car park there is a crowd, a small one, thankfully, standing in a semi-circle around a pair of tussling students. Neither of them is a girl. One of them is Ronan Lynch. A slight twinge of understanding and discomfort registers in Adam’s stomach. 

 

Gansey simply strides through the crowd, parting it with ease, and Adam follows on his heels feeling a little bit like an obedient dog. 

 

“Ronan,” Gansey calls, “Lynch! Cut it out!” 

 

Ronan does not cut it out. Instead, he aims and lands a devastating looking blow at the other student’s head. A pair of unnecessary white sunglasses fly off and land in gravel. 

 

“Ronan!” Gansey snaps. He’s moving forward again. His intent to get in between the two boys is obvious, and Adam does not relish his apparent role in all of this. 

 

Gansey moves in and, seemingly fearlessly, steps right into the middle of the fight, his hands pressing at each of the boy’s chests. Adam follows him, catches Ronan’s arm as it attempts to smack his opponent in the face around Gansey. Ronan swears loudly, with feeling, spits blood, and whips his hand away from Adam before glancing around to see who he is. 

 

Adam thinks Gansey is in the process of shuffling the other guy off, of making the watching crowd assist in this, but he’s too taken up with how horrified Ronan Lynch looks to be at seeing Adam. 

 

“Chill,” Adam says because he hasn’t thought it through and it just slips out on accident. 

 

Ronan swallows so harshly Adam can track the entire movement of his adam’s apple. He looks like all the fight is gone out of him. A look which is proven wrong a half second later when Ronan says, very clearly; “You are such a fucking worthless shit head asshole motherfuck,  _ Adam  _ fucking Parrish.” 

 

Adam has been called many, many, many worse things by his father, but, it’s one thing hearing it from someone you’re used to hearing it from, and another to hear it from someone who by all accounts should have no fault with you, and another thing entirely to hear this from someone who by all accounts should have no fault with you and yet absolutely does because perhaps maybe you did fuck up somehow in the fact that you spent an entire week crossing paths with them and not  _ noticing _ . 

 

Ronan turns and leaves. Gansey, seemingly unaware of the massive turmoil of horror just acted out, returns to Adam’s side, pats him on the shoulder, says thank you, and jogs off after Ronan. 

 

Adam goes to work. 

 

Adam cycles home. 

 

Adam does his chores. 

 

Adam goes to bed. 

 

Adam is a fucking idiot with no eyes, how the hell did he not notice earlier? Was he blind? So what if Selkie was bald now, it was obviously him, his curls weren’t his only features, what the actual hell. He feels so insanely guilty his stomach is aching and his lungs are burning, but then, he’s also so angry because - what the actual hell? Selkie -  _ Ronan _ \- had been here all this time and he hadn’t replied to Adam, and he’d ignored him for an entire year and now, just because Adam hadn’t properly acknowledged him for a week, HE was the one pissed off? 

 

His fucking throat hurts. 

 

He doesn’t want to go back to Aglionby. 

 

He knew he should have been jealous of Gansey as well. They were together, according to that girlfriend comment. Or at the very least they were so close that it was a common misconception or common tease that they were. 

 

-

 

He doesn’t want to go back to Aglionby. 

 

-

 

He’s a fucking idiot. 

 

-

 

He goes back to Aglionby. Of course. Because he wasn’t about to let his plan be fucked up by jealousy and stupid emotions and his stomach feeling like he needed to puke all the time. He goes back to Aglionby with the express intention to confront Ronan. 

 

Ronan does not appear to be at Aglionby. He’s not in Science class, or in Latin. 

 

“Oh,” Gansey says, head in his locker, “he’s suspended. Fighting at school. You know. He’s an idiot. He’s at home right now.” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says. 

 

“Why?” Gansey asks, pulls his head back out of his locker and fixes Adam with a curious expression, “You want to talk to him?” 

 

How much does Gansey know? Does Gansey know any of it? Adam hates gambling. Has always hated gambling. Doesn’t risk shit unless he’s sure of the pay out. He gambles anyway. 

 

“D’you know,” he asks, quietly, “about Selkie?” 

 

Gansey’s face shifts from curious, to shocked, to horrified, back to curious. It’s an interesting face journey to watch. 

 

“I do know,” Gansey says, he takes a step towards Adam, his hand hovering as if he’s about to take Adam by the shoulder, “but I didn’t know about this development.” 

 

Adam wants to melt into the floor. He shouldn’t have said anything. He doesn’t know now, now that Gansey’s confirmed that he knows, whether or not he wanted Gansey to know. 

 

“I didn’t know either,” Adam confesses to the floor.

 

After a long silence, Gansey speaks again: “Adam,” he says, slow and deliberate, “I don’t know you very well, and I don’t know the… the Selkie story very well. But I know Ronan very well, and I know that the angrier he seems about this the more upset he actually is about it.” 

 

In a bite of sudden, lukewarm, rage, Adam bites out; “I didn’t choose this, Gansey. This wasn’t my fault.” 

 

Gansey just looks at him. Adam swallows. 

 

“He ended things,” Adam says, firmer than he feels, “so if he’s pissed off that I’m here now, then that’s on him.” 

 

Gansey doesn’t reply. 

 

“Sorry if this makes things weird between you and him,” Adam continues, stupidly, stupidly, stupidly, “but don’t worry. I’m not going to try and steal him from you or whatever.” 

 

Now Gansey looks pissed off. 

 

“I wasn’t expecting that kind of thing from you,” he says, his voice firm in a way Adam’s voice has no hope of ever being, “it’s bad enough when everyone else implies that Ronan and I are together because you’re not allowed close friends without it being gay, I didn’t expect it from someone who actually is gay. And especially not in such a cruel tone.” 

 

Adam gapes. 

 

“I’m not gay,” he says, which is also a stupid thing to say, even if true. 

 

Gansey scoffs at him, turns on heel, leaves. 

 

Adam is a stupid person. 

 

He goes to work. 

 

-

 

He has the entire weekend to ruminate on everything, and by the time Monday turns up again, he’s no closer than he had been on Friday on figuring out what the fuck to do about the mess that was his life. He couldn’t build a time machine to go back and either not kiss Selkie or to somehow stay in contact with Selkie. He couldn’t drop out and go become a hermit. He couldn’t go back to Mountain View because that would kill him. However, having to face Gansey and/or Ronan might also kill him. 

 

He goes to school. 

 

Gansey does not talk to him in class or after Latin. 

 

He goes to work, he goes home, he does his chores, he goes to bed, he makes his fucking mind up. 

 

He goes to school. 

 

He sits anxiously through his first three periods, and then he tracks down Gansey at lunch because he knows Ronan will be with Gansey and he’s pretty sure Ronan’s suspension will be over. He doesn’t let himself dawdle upon approaching. Refuses to listen to how terrified his body is. He crosses the grass to the table at which Gansey and Ronan and a third person Adam is reasonably certain is called Noah are sitting, and stops by the bench. Gansey and Noah are looking at him, Ronan is getting out of his seat and beginning to walk in the opposite direction. 

 

“Shit,” Adam groans, “Selk- Ronan. Wait. Please. Fuck. Wait.” 

 

Ronan does not wait. He, in fact, speeds up. 

 

“You sure you wanna talk to him?” Probably Noah says, “He says some real mean stuff when he’s pissy.” 

 

“I’m sorry,” Adam says to Gansey, doesn’t know what he’s supposed to even say in reply to Noah, “I didn’t mean it that way the other day. I”m sorry,” 

 

Before Gansey has a chance to reply, Adam zags around the table in pursuit of Ronan, who is still walking, with such a determination towards the walled off school boundary that Adam thinks he actually intends to vault himself over it. He breaks into a jog. 

 

Ronan reaches the wall ahead of them, but does not leap over it. Instead, he turns and leans against it, shoulder to the stone, chin to his chest. Adam catches up. 

 

“You can’t really expect me to believe you looked me right in the face on the first day of school and didn’t recognise me,” Ronan says roughly, “or that you heard me speak and didn’t recognise me. Should I have kissed you instead? Would you have recognised my tongue?” 

 

“Selkie,” Adam says, because he can’t help himself, and then he’s suddenly mad again. “You can’t really believe I’m the one at fault when you’re the one who just dropped off the face of the planet. I thought you were dead. I thought you’d moved away. I thought you hated me. Now you really do hate me, so, ha, great I guess.” 

 

“Did you come over here to yell at me?” Ronan asks. His chin is still to his chest but Adam can see his forehead is furrowed. 

 

“Yes,” Adam admits, “in part. If I’m an asshole for not recognising you, you’re an asshole for - for ghosting me.” 

 

“You’re the one who always said we weren’t dating,” Ronan snaps, “I can’t have ghosted you if we weren’t together, right?” 

 

“Don’t be a shit head,” Adam growls, “you could have at least texted back to say we were done.” 

 

“We weren’t done,” Ronan says, snaps, yells maybe. A quieter yell than most yells Adam knows. He clears his throat. “I didn’t want us to be done.” 

 

Adam feels like he might combust. “Well geez,” he drawls, voice dripping in sarcasm that does a poor job of slicking over how painful his throat is, “you not texting back for three months sure felt like you wanted to stay together, yeah.” 

 

Ronan clears his throat again. He’s so slumped against the wall. “You’re right,” he says roughly, which isn’t what Adam had been expecting to hear. “The first three months was on me. You didn’t reply when I texted you after that, though. You chose to ignore me then. I poured my fucking heart out to you and you ignored it. If you didn’t have anything to say then I doubt you have anything to say now.” 

 

“I didn’t get any texts,” Adam says. 

 

“Don’t be a shit,” Ronan replies to his feet. 

 

“No,” Adam says, “I didn’t get any texts. I - my phone was - it - my parents took it. Changed the sim. No texts got through to me.””

 

Ronan looks at him. Adam spends half a second feeling relief and joy and then the anger pushes back through. 

 

“I’ve no fucking clue what you could’ve said to me that would have made up for three months of ignoring me though,” he says, “fuck, Ronan.” 

 

Ronan laughs, hollow, drops his chin back to his chest. 

 

“Go on then,” Adam says, “do you wanna explain?” 

 

“No,” Ronan says, “I really, really don’t. Once was enough.” 

 

“Right,” Adam says, “right. Ok. Fine.” 

 

“That night,” Ronan says, “before I stopped texting.” 

 

Adam wants to walk away. He nods instead. 

 

“Was one of the worst days of my life,” Ronan continues, “another contender for worst days of my life were the days just before.” He’s speaking stiffly, as if each word is painful. 

 

“Why?” Adam asks, knows it’s probably cruel. 

 

“My dad died,” Ronan says, very, very simply, “and then my mum - my mum never came right.” 

 

Adam can remember that night with horrible clarity. Can hear so easily in retrospect how much grief Ronan had been in. Can remember how harsh Ronan’s sobs were. How shaky his body was. How dreadful his voice had sounded. Put in context it makes so much more sense than anything Adam had imagined to explain it all. 

 

“I was real - really fucked up,” Ronan continues, he’s back to speaking to the ground, “I couldn’t get to grips with it. I lost control. I couldn’t text you because I couldn’t bear to do anything that wasn’t destructive, and then I couldn’t text you because I turned my phone off and lost it so my brother couldn’t get in contact with me, and then I couldn’t because I was so - so ashamed. And when I finally got over my shame enough to do something about it, you didn’t text back.” 

 

Adam knows he couldn’t have known any of this. He still feels guilty. He wants to apologise, but he doesn’t want to apologise. He shoves his hands into his pockets and focuses on breathing. 

 

“Does that fucking make up for it, then?” Ronan asks, and Adam thinks that if his voice sounds rough and furious it’s truly as Gansey says, it’s because he’s upset and hiding it behind fire. 

 

“Yeah,” Adam mumbles, then, “I didn’t come here to find you.” 

 

“What the fuck?” Ronan says. 

 

“I mean,” Adam swallows hard, “coming to Aglionby. I came here to look good on my university applications. I wasn’t hunting you down.” 

 

Ronan laughs roughly. Adam swallows again. 

 

“I can’t believe your real fucking name is ‘Adam’,” Ronan says, “how fucking unoriginal.” 

 

“Couldn’t beat Selkie,” Adam mumbles, “so I didn’t even try.” 

 

“Ronan means little seal,” Ronan says, “so I wasn’t being super original either.” 

 

Adam laughs. He doesn’t know what else to do. Apparently his mouth thinks this is a great time to take advantage of not knowing what to do by saying something else dumb. Being around Ronan seemed to make this happen a lot. 

 

“Are you and Gansey together?” 

 

“What the fuck?” Ronan says, sounding a perfect mixture of amused and pissed off, “Seriously? You’re still on that shit?” 

 

Adam shrugs. “I heard someone say you were together,” he says. 

 

Ronan eyes him shrewdly, “And you’re still jealous about that,” he says, “that still makes you all asshole pissy.” 

 

Adam shrugs again. 

 

“What do you think is going to happen here?” Ronan asks, “You think we’re going to have this moment where we realise the last year has just been a big mistake and neither of us were at fault and then we’ll just go straight back to being friends with benefits?” 

 

Maybe part of Adam thinks this could happen. “No,” he says, “no that can’t happen. I know that.” 

 

“Because you’re not gay?” Ronan says then, and Adam grimaces. 

 

“I’m not gay,” Adam sighs, “I’m not,” he adds at Ronan’s twisted expression, “we never talked about sexuality or whatever. You know? I’m bi. I think. That’s the word, yeah? I like girls and guys?” 

 

“Right,” Ronan snorts, “ok fine. So. Whatever.” 

 

“Ronan,” Adam says, feels like it rings false on his tongue. “Selkie,” he tries instead, watches as Ronan’s eyes flicker and close, “what do you even want me to say, here?” 

 

“The truth,” Ronan says immediately, keeps his eyes closed, “did you even miss me?” 

 

“You’re an asshole,” Adam groans, “of course I did.” 

 

“Say it,” Ronan grits out, teeth clenched together. 

 

Adam rolls his eyes, more out of embarrassment than disapproval. “I missed you,” he says blandly, “I missed you, ok? I missed you for three months. I missed you for a year. I missed you every fucking day. How dumb is that, huh? I missed my hookup buddy so much it fucking hurt. Ok? Is that enough truth?” 

 

“No,” Ronan says, opens his eyes again. “I can always do with hearing more about how much you missed me.” 

 

“Asshole,” Adam reiterates. 

 

“I missed you too, obviously,” Ronan says, gruff, “me and Gansey aren’t together. Surprise. You’re still the one and only person I’ve ever fucking even kissed. Happy?” 

 

Yes. 

 

“No,” Adam says, “I can always do with hearing more about how you’ve only even been with me.” 

 

“You’re so - “ Ronan cuts himself off to huff angrily, “- piss pleased with yourself,” he finishes, “jealous,” he amends, then, “if you’re still jealous does that mean you still -” 

 

“What,” Adam snorts, “after a year? A year of not seeing you? You think I still want to just - to just - to just kiss you? Just like that?” 

 

Ronan scowls at him. “Yes,” he says, “I think you do.” 

 

“I can’t do that again,” Adam says, as truthful as he can, “I can’t. I can’t do the hookup thing again. Not like that.” 

 

Ronan’s face doesn’t change at all. 

 

Adam still isn’t a gambling man, he isn’t, he gambles anyway.

 

“I can’t do hookups,” he says again, Ronan’s face twitches like he’s about to snap something, so Adam hurries on, “because I don’t like you like  _ that _ . I like you in the way I wanna take you out on dates and call them dates.” 

 

Ronan’s silent for a while, then he says; “What, after a year? A year of not seeing you?” 

 

Adam rolls his eyes at his own words being tossed back at him. He nods. 

 

“You wanna fucking date?” Ronan says, “What the hell changed your mind? You didn’t want to date last year.” 

 

“I’ve grown a lot in a year,” Adam says, “enough to admit that that’s what I want.” 

 

“You’ve grown  _ up _ a bit too,” Ronan says, “You’re almost as tall as me now.” 

 

“Uh-huh,” Adam says, “c’mon, then. Are we gonna date?” 

 

“You’re actually serious?” Ronan demands, “you’re asking this seriously?” 

 

“Dick head.” 

 

“Whatever,” Ronan says, drawls it like it’s of no consequence, “let’s try the dating thing out. Probably you’re gonna hate me now and we’ll figure it out after a couple of dates, but let’s try.” 

 

“Shit,” Adam groans, “you’re such an optimist.” 

 

“So they tell me,” Ronan says, pushes away from the wall and steps away past Adam back towards the way they’d come, “c’mon, Gansey’s probably worrying.” 

 

“What?” Adam asks, turning to watch Ronan walk off. 

 

“If we’re starting this, you’re gonna have to come have lunch with us,” Ronan says over his shoulder, “it’s the rules.” 

 

“Whatever,” Adam grumbles. 

 

They have lunch together. Gansey does not ask the million questions very obviously sitting in his mouth. Ronan pokes Adam in the thigh maybe forty times. Noah asks about twenty of the questions that Gansey is not asking. Nothing is answered properly. Ronan informs Adam that Adam is coming over to Monmouth after school. Adam informs Ronan that actually Adam is working after school. Ronan decides that Adam is coming to Monmouth after work. Adam agrees that that is in fact what is happening. Gansey appears confused. Noah appears delighted. 

 

-

 

Last period is hard to get through because all Adam can think about is going to Monmouth - the not empty no longer abandoned lot - to - what. Adam doesn’t know what he’s going to Monmouth for to be quite honest. That’s all he can think about though. Ronan bumps himself against Adam at the end of last period, shoulder to shoulder as they leave the class. 

 

“You remember how to get there, yeah?” 

 

“Don’t be a dick,” Adam snorts, “I remember how to get there. It wasn’t that long ago.”

 

“You sure?” Ronan presses, “Because I could come pick you up.” 

 

“Huh,” Adam says, pauses them in the hallway. Gansey bumps into Ronan from behind. Adam hadn’t even been aware he was there. “Ok.” 

 

“What time?” Ronan asks, reaching around himself to steady Gansey who’s grumbling slightly. “Boyd’s?” 

 

“Uh-huh,” Adam says, “six.” 

 

“Cool,” Ronan says, “see you then, shit head.” He departs, leaving a disgruntled looking Gansey in his place. 

 

“I’m glad to see you guys have… made up,” he says. 

 

“I’m not sure how made up we are yet,” Adam admits, “it’s been a while.’ 

 

“Hm,” Gansey says. Then he says something Adam thinks shouldn’t be said in a crowded hallway. “Look, Adam, I think you and I are going to be very good friends. I like you a lot so far. But if you hurt him, I swear -” 

 

“I understand,” Adam interrupts, “and I guess I get why you’re like - worried - but. I have no plans on hurting him. So.” 

 

Gansey narrows his eyes, but nods, and holds his fist up. Adam stares at it for a moment too long before clicking and bumping his own fist against it. 

 

“See you this evening?” Gansey says. 

 

“I guess so,” Adam replies. 

 

He goes to work. 

 

-

 

It takes Adam about five seconds to realise how he’s being picked up when he steps out of Boyd’s. There’s a BMW. A very expensive looking charcoal grey BMW. There’s terrible music pouring out of it. There’s Ronan sitting in the driver’s seat looking like an asshole. Adam considers not getting into the passenger seat. He gets into the passenger seat. 

 

“This is such an Aglionby car,” Adam grumbles. 

 

“It isn’t,” Ronan says, “because I actually know how to fucking drive it and all those bastards are too scared to do anything more than party tricks in their shit garbage cars.” 

 

“Wow ok,” Adam snorts, “I didn’t know you were a car boy, jeez.” 

 

“You gotta get with my car,” Ronan says, revving said car, “if you wanna be my lover.” 

 

“God,” Adam groans, scrabbles for the seat belt, “come on then.” 

 

“So,” Ronan says, barely waiting for Adam to do his seat belt up as he skids out of the parking lot, “I was thinking. That grassy spot behind the building.” 

 

“What,” Adam grunts. 

 

“It’s still a good place for making out,” Ronan says to the windscreen. “I mean. I’m guessing it is. I haven’t tried it. But. It looks the same.” 

 

“I thought we were gonna try this out before we start making out again?” Adam says, eyebrows raised. He shifts in his seat so he can stare easily at Ronan. 

 

His profile is sharp and dark, pointy. He’s not looking at Adam, staring out the window instead. It’s so stupid, looking at him right now, to have spent a week not realising who he was because, damn, his profile is the same. He’s still the same guy. His face is still beautiful. Sure, he’s gotten pointier, whether through age, grief, or just by cutting all his soft curls off. But. It’s Selkie. It’s Selkie’s strong jaw, and dark eyelashes, and high cheekbones, and - God. He’s stupidly good looking and Adam’s been watching for too long. 

 

“Are you done staring?” Ronan grunts. 

 

“I was waiting for an answer,” Adam lies, “about the waiting thing.” 

 

“Hm,” Ronan says. He knows just as well as Adam that Adam had been staring. Still. It was true. Adam was waiting for an answer. “Making out could be trying it out.” 

 

“I don’t want to do it that way this time,” Adam says. This isn’t a lie. 

 

“The kissing before talking way?” Ronan asks the window. 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, “don’t get me wrong. I love the - I love the kissing part. That’s - damn it, Selkie - Ronan - kissing you was ridiculously great. But I said I wanted to date you. I don’t want to like… to  like - to influence any feelings by kissing you.” 

 

“You’re such an idiot,” Ronan says, which is kinda shitty, “you think my feelings could be influenced?” 

 

“I think anyone can be influenced,” Adam says flatly, “I’m not taking any risks. Not after a year. This is -” 

 

“Come on, Adam,” Ronan says. They’re suddenly pulling in to Monmouth. “Come on. You really think I wasn’t already all the way there last year? You don’t think my feelings weren’t strong enough to last a year? Seriously?” He pulls the handbrake. 

 

“No,” Adam says, “I don’t. I don’t think your feelings could have lasted a year with nothing. That doesn’t make any sense.” 

 

“So,” Ronan says, “you’re telling me you don’t feel anything for me? You’re saying that any feelings you had for me last year are gone?” 

 

“That’s obviously not what I’m doing,” Adam snaps, “that’s not what I’m saying.”

 

“Then,” Ronan snaps right back, “what the fuck are you saying?” 

 

“Are you mad at me because I don’t want to kiss you yet or are you mad at me because I’m not a hundred percent sure that we can just hop right back to where we were a whole fucking year ago?” 

 

“Both,” Ronan says, then shakes his head, “no. Not both. Just the latter.” 

 

“No one can just slip back into what they used to have,” Adam says, “that’s not how life works.” 

 

“It could be, but it wouldn’t be anyway. We’re not doing the same thing. We’re changing shit up.” 

 

“You don’t know me anymore,” Adam points out. 

 

Ronan sighs. 

 

“We could still go hang out behind the building,” Adam suggests, “not kissing. Just. Getting back to it?” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says. He sounds, not enthusiastic, but pleased. “Let’s do it then.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says. Unbuckles himself. 

 

The grassy spot is exactly as Adam remembers it, if, somehow, a little more overgrown. It’s a bit cold, but Adam’s got his jacket on, and anyway, it gives him an excuse to sit closer to Ronan. Not that he thinks he really needs an excuse. Ronan certainly doesn’t seem to think so because as soon as they’re sitting down next to each other against the high fence, shoulder to shoulder, Ronan reaches down and takes his hand, winds their fingers together and scrunches himself down to rest his head on Adam’s shoulder. 

 

It is. 

 

It is a lot softer than the Ronan Adam had seen at school so far. It is.  Exactly as Adam remembered Selkie. How much Selkie/Ronan loved being pressed close and being held and just generally touching. It makes him, stupidly, want to cry. It makes him, also stupidly, want to kiss the hell out of Ronan. 

 

“I spent a lot of last year being really angry with you,” Adam mumbles into the night. 

 

Ronan replies against Adam’s neck, the sound tickling his skin. “Same.” 

 

“Now I - I’m not angry. Exactly. But I feel like there’s still angry there. Not directed at you, but just hanging out there.” 

 

“So eloquent,” Ronan says, “I see how you got that scholarship.” 

 

“Dick head,” Adam says, squeezes his hand, “do you understand?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “I feel the same fucking thing. Asshole. Of course I understand.” 

 

“Do you get why I don’t wanna kiss you yet?” 

 

“Do I get that you do want to kiss me but don’t want to? Yes.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, “smart ass.” 

 

-

  
  


Nothing changes over night. Progress doesn’t happen hugely in a week. It happens slowly in a week. Two weeks. A month. Minute by minute. Word by word. It happens by Ronan making Adam laugh, and Adam making Ronan laugh, and Ronan kicking out the guy in the desk next to him in Latin and insisting Adam sits next to him so he can kick his ankle all the way through class and help him with declensions and vocab and to write rude little notes for Adam to translate later. 

 

It’s Adam spending every free moment he has either at Monmouth or in the car with Ronan because so much of him wants to make up for every second lost from last year. It’s Gansey walking in on them kissing in the lounge of Monmouth after a week and getting grumpy because it meant he lost a bet with Noah. 

 

It’s the two of them lying on the couch together talking about their favourite dogs and movies and Ronan’s hands resting on Adam’s hips. 

 

It isn’t what they had last year. This involves a hell of a lot more truth, a lot more rebellion, Adam thinks. 

 

-

 

“I still can’t believe,” Noah says, two months later, “that out of all the fake names you could think of, you went with your actual name.” 

 

Ronan scoffs, chucks one of the peanuts he’s eating at Adam. Adam bats it away with practiced ease and shrugs. 

 

“I didn’t care if he knew my name,” he says, “I didn’t think I’d be seeing him for much longer at first. And then. I wanted him to know my name.” 

 

“You’re so gay,” Ronan says, throws another peanut. This one Adam catches in his mouth. 

 

“Bi,” Gansey says from just out of Adam’s peripheral, “get it right, Ronan.” 

 

“Yeah, Ronan,” Noah teases, “get it right.” 

 

“Fuck off,” Ronan snorts, shifts so he can reach out with his leg to kick Adam in the thigh, “and you. Why the hell are you sitting all the way over there?” 

 

“Ronan,” Adam says, puts his Latin homework down, “we are literally sitting on the same couch.” 

 

“Should be on the same couch cushion,” Ronan tells him, sounding very serious. 

 

“Then scoot over,” Adam replies, “I’m all set up over here. If you wanna cuddle you can fit yourself in around my papers.” 

 

“God,” Ronan groans, “you’re so annoying, fine.” 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! If you like my writing feel free to come yell at me on my Tumblr etoilegarden.tumblr.com

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Every opportunity offered to him](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16460921) by [EtoileGarden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtoileGarden/pseuds/EtoileGarden)




End file.
